Warnings : Spoilers for season 7, NC-17, pure angst.
Disclaimer : My name is not Kripke.
A/N : If you like my writing, please do check out my blog, it has a whole bunch of my stories, some of them were even posted here before with my old FF account. Link's in my profile. The formatting for this story looks better on the blog, imo. IDK lol, I hate FF's formatting.

It was never perfect, that thing they had going on between them. Life was full of ups and downs, sure, but it was never this bad. Normal people don't start the apocalypse, normal people don't come back after exploding into a million pieces, normal people don't get a second chance from hell - but then again, an angel of the Lord was never considered normal, was it.

His life was fucked from the start, the death of his mother, the way he was brought up, the way he had to protect Sammy. He tried, in all honesty, to give Sam the perfect apple pie life. Though how could he, when his dad failed in that aspect as well? Protect Sam - that was his order, that was what he failed in doing. Even years after the death of his mother, years after John was set on revenge, he failed them. He couldn't protect Sam, couldn't give him that normal life he wanted so much. He destroyed his brother's life, if he wasn't there, if he had never asked, Sam would never have been dragged into this. It was all his fault, he failed as an elder brother.

Then there was the death of his father, another thing to add onto his tab when he dies and goes to hell. He caused the death of his own father, indirectly, but he was still the cause of it nonetheless. If he hadn't been in that car, if he hadn't been so weak as to almost die, his father wouldn't have had to make that sacrifice. His father would still be alive and kicking. More importantly, his father would have been alive to see yellow eyes dead, spirits don't count, now do they? Because what good did that do, John was still dead anyway, he couldn't celebrate when the demon was killed. And it was all his fault, he failed as a son.

Many things happened in those few years after, but the one that stood out was when Jo and Ellen died. If he hadn't been so weak, if he was the one who took the hit instead of Jo, two lives wouldn't be lost, he would trade his own tainted soul for those two any day. He couldn't protect Jo, he didn't shoot fast enough, react quick enough. He couldn't heal her wounds, he couldn't make her feel better, he couldn't change her mind about death. Then there was Ellen, and it didn't make him feel better that he couldn't convince her to leave either. And it was all his fault, he failed as their friend.

Bobby lost his legs - but thank god, or rather, Crowley - he got them back. Dean would probably have blamed himself for that too.

After Sam had gone through with his stupid plan - why, oh why, didn't Dean protest to that? - Dean knew that it was his fault too. He jump started the apocalypse, he broke the first seal. If he didn't crack, if he wasn't such a pussy, if only he could have tolerated the pain. Sam wouldn't have been locked down there, Lucifer would never have walked the Earth. He failed Sam once again, for all he knew, he killed his brother.

As if losing everyone that he was ever close to was not enough, he had to go through with that promise to Sam about living with Lisa and Ben. He shouldn't have, he would only serve to give them more problems. That one year with Lisa and Ben, he was happy, sure - but he wasn't contented, never contented. It was never what he wanted. He might have pictured happiness with Lisa and Ben, but not like this, not with Sam lost and all that weight on his shoulders. He knew he never suited the 'normal life', like it was written in stone, because hell if he knew, it was like he's cursed.

When they got kidnapped, he remembered everything, every dumb thing he has ever done in his life - this has got to be the worst, he thought. He dragged them into this, if he hadn't appeared at their doorstep, none of this would have happened. So he did the only thing he knew was right and asked Castiel to wipe away their memories. It was hard, no doubt, but it was better this way. He is cursed. He is doomed to lose everyone he's ever cared about since the day he was born. It was all his fault, he failed as a partner and as a dad.

Sure, they say its not his fault, that certain things can't be controlled, but he thinks otherwise anyway.

Castiel should have left him in hell, should have left him there to rot. He deserved it. The angel died because of him - how many times was that now, three? How could someone fuck up so bad, that they even get an angel of the Lord killed?

"Why did you bring me back?"

"Because God commanded it."

Yet somehow, Dean knew, that it wasn't the right answer, it wasn't what Castiel had on his mind.

The Righteous Man - what fucking bullshit. Of all the words he could describe himself with, none of it even resembles righteous. He drank, he had way too much one night stands, he killed demons and indirectly killed men, he failed in all aspects of his life and you can't be righteous if you go to hell, right? Because hell is never for the righteous, hell was for sinners. And he has undoubtedly sinned, every second of his life, things that happen, it was always his fault.

Thus he tries again, "Why did you bring me back?"

"You know why."

He wanted to reply that he didn't, wanted to grab Castiel's arm to make sure he stayed, wanted to have a long nice chat with the guy about his journey back to Earth from hell because he sure as fuck didn't remember that. But Castiel was gone before he could do anything, god damned angels, always disappearing at crucial timings.

At first he doesn't question it, when he first hears Castiel say, "My superiors have begun to question my sympathies. I was getting too close to the humans in my charge... you." He should have paid more attention, should have asked the guy what he meant by that. Yet all he did was stare, he was never a man of words, never had been, never will be. Any emotions that he feels he hides under a mask, a well formed one harder than steel from all those years of hurt.

He knows though, that everything was his fault, he didn't need Castiel to tell him. "I rebelled for this? So you could surrender to them? I gave everything to you and this is what you give to me?" He knows he screwed up, but shit, he didn't need to hear that. Every word stung, and it wasn't because Castiel was beating the air out of him. It was the last thing he needed to hear. He knows - but the last thing he ever wanted was to hear it from Castiel. The last thing he ever wanted was to disappoint the only person alive that he could prove himself to. Castiel was the only thing left, and yet, once again, he has failed.

He didn't deserve it, being pulled out of hell only to disappoint the very being that did it. Thus he asked, once again, "Why did you bring me back?"

"Because I have faith in you."

It stung, more than he ever thought it would, more than any insult would - they were words of praise, words he didn't deserve. "You shouldn't," his voice breaks, he couldn't deal, not this time. "I don't deserve your trust."

"Of course you do, Dean," that head tilt, Castiel only does it when he doesn't understand and Dean just wants to punch him, because what is there to not understand?

"I'm the biggest fuck up, I don't deserve your trust," he says again, grimancing at the look he gets in return. Castiel doesn't answer, the corner of his lips twitching upwards, a gentle smile and he's gone. And fuck, Dean doesn't deserve that either, doesn't deserve to be the only one to see that smile. Castiel has such a pretty smile, it was wasted on him, and no one else, it wasn't fair.

He doesn't see Castiel in more than a year after they cleaned up his mess and stopped the apocalypse. When Castiel reappears, it was because of the staff of Moses, not because Dean called. And well, Dean can deal with that, he doesn't deserve to have an angel watching over him every minute of his life. Dean can deal with Castiel's irregular appearances because the guy's busy with the war in heaven. It wasn't like he looked forward to seeing the angel or anything, it wasn't like he didn't have any questions.

"How did you bring me back?" apparently he got past the 'why' phrase, because after he asked again and again, Castiel would always reply 'because I have faith in you' with so much conviction that Dean knows its the truth.

"I gripped you tight and-"

"I know, Cas, we've been through that. Give me details."

"There is a reason why you don't remember your trip back, Dean," and with that, gone, again. Dean hates it, hates how he doesn't have the power to make Castiel stay. But when he thinks about it, how dare he even think about it, he doesn't deserve any of it.

Castiel has never been one for feelings, being an angel after all. Things were supposed to be simple, his existence merely to follow orders, a soldier. He has lived for centuries, followed through with his orders for centuries, unquestioning, always obeying. And yet, he threw that all away in a fleeting moment in hell. He traveled for 40 years, the very essence of hell eating right at him. His wings once white and pure were being torched by hell's oddly cold fire, leaving nothing but smeared ashes and grime, wings charred and blackened. He was sick of the crying souls, screaming at him to save them, liberate them. Their voices piercing, distracting him - he needed to find the Righteous man, at that was it, that was his orders, that was absolute.

It took him 40 years to find said man, but he was too late. The man had given in, and was indulging himself in carving up a poor weeping woman. The blood splattering on his face as he carved a deep wound down her belly. Her screams were inhuman, torture rang through it, in every sense of the word in that one scream. And yet in that scene, all Castiel saw was a bright light, brighter than anything he has ever seen. Pure, grace, salvation.

"Dean," he called, but the man did not so much as to spare him a glance. He walked closer, wings worn out, legs close to collapsing. He reached out a hand shakily, "Dean," he tried again.

"What?" the man snapped, tearing his gaze away from the mutilated body before him.

"I was sent to raise you from perdition."

A snort, "Not gonna happen, you're shitting me right? I don't trust you." Dean looked up at him, straight in his eye with pure black ones. But that flickered away in mere seconds, taking place of it, the most beautiful green orbs Castiel has ever seen - and he has been alive for a long, long time, so that has to say something.

"You can trust me, Dean, I'm an angel of the Lord," plain and simple, he saw no need for lies.

Dean however, did not answer. He was too transfixed in the endless blue eyes, it reminded him of the sky, of the ocean - of Earth. For once, in that 10 long years that he had finally cracked under Alistair, he was human again.

A hand on his left shoulder snapped him back into reality, warmth consumed him, protecting him from the chilly vices of hell. His vision blurred, that sparkling blue consuming his sight - there were no words to describe how he felt, it was all so surreal. A voice, somewhere above him, he couldn't determine what language it was speaking, but he understood. "Castiel," the name weird on his tongue, it was too perfect to roll off his tainted lips.

"Trust me, Dean, as I trust you."

A sob, then Dean realized that he was the one who made that strangled sound, "I don't deserve your trust." Because how can he deserve anything but the pain he felt in hell? How could he deserve something so perfect and magnificent - how could he deserve an angel? "My mother," another sob at that memory, "she told me that angels were watching over me, but I never expected... this." This light, this grace, this holiness.

Like he could read his thoughts, Castiel answered, "I am not perfect, Dean." Before he could ask, his vision cleared somewhat, he could see the being standing in front of him, he could see the angel, arms and legs bleeding, trench coat dirty, wings jet black. "What happened to..." he trailed off, because he knew exactly what happened. It was his fault, once again, wasn't it?

"It is not your fault, Dean." A lie, he knew it was a lie.

"Leave me here, I don't- I can't-"

"Yes you can, Dean. I have faith in you." It was misplaced trust, Dean screamed, hitting, scratching, tearing at the being in front of him so that he could go back to the torture, to the coldness, to hell.

"I don't deserve-"

Before he could finish his sentence, he was pulled into an embrace, the angel's arms weak and trembling, body shivering, chaffed lips placed upon his own. "You deserve it, more than you can ever imagine. Everything you gave, this time you should take something in return."

That one moment in hell, that one moment where he saw the light that was coming from the Righteous man - it was enough. This was the man he was looking for, this was the man he spent 40 years in hell for, this was the man that he was waiting for. Castiel begun to question, right then and there, about all the things he was taught, about all the things he heard and saw. One thing, though, still holds true, 'love all of God's creation', and love he did - he was taught angels were incapable of love, that's another thing to question, right there.

Dean couldn't help the surge of tears that poured forward, no one was there to see it, anyway, right? An angel was kissing him, an angel. He didn't deserve this, any of this, he couldn't take it. Castiel was wrong, wrong to put faith in him, wrong to have come and save him. But it didn't matter, for once, nothing mattered but those lips on his, that warmth, that comfort. And perhaps the angel was right, because he needed it, that touch, that connection.

Before he knew it, everything was a pure white, and he could feel the aching muscles in his body heal, the wounds and scars gone, his bones cracking into place. "So this is what it's like..." a soft whisper from his lips, it was almost like he was day dreaming, "to be touched by grace."

"Close your eyes, Dean, you deserve the rest."

And so he did.

Words could not describe how he felt when he knew God left the building. Funny, isn't it, how he could actually feel. Perhaps he was falling, the thought should have scared him more than it did, but he reasoned that falling wasn't all that bad, if it was because he was falling for Dean Winchester. In any case, he felt that it was much needed to drink the contents of a whole liquor store, he had seen Dean drink when he wanted to forget so many times. He was learning from Dean, every little thing about being human, he observed from Dean.

When Dean and him talked on the park bench, he had known humor when Dean cracked a joke. After Dean's failed attempt at getting him together with a girl, Dean's laughter at the end was worth the horror of meeting said girl, and he had known adoration. When Dean patted him on the shoulder, telling him 'don't ever change', he couldn't stop himself from smiling, and it was then that he knew true happiness.

So perhaps it shouldn't come as a surprise when he learned the bad things as well, like when he lost faith in Dean. It shouldn't have come as a shock to him, seeing how Dean failed from the start and was the cause of the apocalypse. But he didn't look at it that way, it wasn't Dean's fault, he never knew of the seals before then. And it definitely wasn't Dean's fault when their only hope, God, was no where to be found.

It was wearing him down, though. Slowly, but surely. He had come to terms with himself, accepting that perhaps it is the end. "I don't have the same faith in you that Sam does," the words heavy, filled with regret as soon as it left his mouth. The look in Dean's eyes, the amount of hurt - Dean has failed again, in the one that trusted him the most. Castiel wanted to say sorry, but it wouldn't be sincere. So he chose to say nothing, but that mere action of carving the sigils into his flesh - he knew then, that he still trusted Dean, however little. If he didn't, he wouldn't have gone on that crazy suicide mission, wouldn't have offered the flesh and blood of his vessel, wouldn't have given heaven a chance to take away his grace.

He had apologized after, "You are not the burnt and broken shell of a man that I believed you to be." Okay, so maybe he needed to learn more about this human trait of saying sorry.

After the apocalypse, when they had succeeded in throwing Lucifer into hell, he would have stayed. But he knew that Dean was going to keep his promise he'd made with his brother, he knew that Dean would go to stay with Lisa. He couldn't bring himself to stay on Earth then, he didn't want to ruin things for Dean. So he went back to heaven, but every now and then, he would look down from the clouds, just to see Dean's smile. He was there, not physically, but his presence was there, and so the demons never dared to interfere.

He has made some choices that he isn't proud of, but it had to be done, there was no other choice. It was free will, wasn't it? "You're the ones who thought me that you can make your own destiny. You don't have to be ruled by fate, you can choose freedom. And I still believe that that's something worth fighting for. I just wanted you to understand that," he looks into Dean's eyes, and sees a twinkle of a smile, he couldn't help but to smile back. He wanted Dean to understand that Dean was worth fighting for, Dean was the reason he chose this reality over the lives of 50 thousand people, Dean was the reason he knew of such a thing as free will.

And when Dean asks him about Balthazar, he had agreed, because he didn't want to tell Dean that he sank the Titanic just so Dean wouldn't be killed.

It made things so much harder when he knew that they were on to him and Crowley. He wanted to explain, to tell Dean why he did all those things - it was for you, I did it all for you - but he couldn't bring himself to do it. How could he put any more weight onto the man's shoulders? Dean has already suffered enough, he doesn't need to bear the weight of Castiel's sins.

"So I went to an old friend for help. But watching him, I stopped. Everything he sacrificed, and I was about to ask him for more." He couldn't ask Dean for help, not when Dean has already given him - not only him, the world - so much. He didn't need that extra burden. Castiel can decide for himself, and he knows, that its a shitty choice to make, but what other did he have? Crowley and the purgatory was his only option, it was the only way he knew of to stop the apocalypse from happening again.

It tore into him, that Raphael would do such a thing, starting the apocalypse. How could that be what God wanted? How could that be heaven's will?

He has already lost so much, his brothers and sisters, and now he was going to lose it all again. He couldn't take it, he couldn't bear to lose Dean. But perhaps he already has, it hurt more than anything, to see Dean having such faith in him. And then he understood how Dean felt - he didn't deserve this, didn't deserve Dean's trust. He knew that what he was doing was wrong, and Dean had placed his faith in the wrong person. He could only do this much, and he welcomed the pain when Dean accused him of lying, accused him of everything he did. He welcomed the pain, because he knew that after that, he would feel nothing more. And the least he could have, was to keep the ability to feel.

Dean couldn't take it - the only thing he believed in the most, ripped from his grasp. He knows how much Castiel wants him to believe, to trust that what he was doing was for the greater good. Fuck the greater good, Dean has done his share of world saving in his opinion, he doesn't care about that anymore. He can't believe in Castiel, because getting hurt once was enough, going through the torment of betrayal from Sam was enough. He couldn't go through it again, even though this was Castiel, the one that pulled him from hell, he couldn't go through it again.

When the son of a bitch actually heals Lisa for him, and wipes out both of their memories, he couldn't take it anymore, and he broke.

"Tell me Cas," his voice strained, "Please tell me how you pulled me out of hell." The angel at least owed him that one memory that he was deprived of.

And tell him, Castiel did. Of those long cold years of torture, screams and pain. The soreness of his wings when he got to tired to fly, the pure white gone and in its place a hallow black, the scraping of his feet on the ground as he pushed himself to walk, to find Dean, and how that was the only thing on his mind. Those 40 years of being cut off from heaven, those 40 years of being alone, cold and tortured.

"Why, Cas," he cries, and he can't bring himself to stop, "Why did you do that? You didn't need to go through all that."

"Because I have faith in you, Dean."

And his throat clamps up, he could barely get out the words, but he did in the end, a hush whisper, "I am not worthy."

"Yes you are, Dean. You're worth everything I've ever done, and so much more." Castiel spares him another look, that faint smile on his lips, and then he was gone. Dean remembered, once again, that Castiel only smiled that way for him, and his heart ached. He understood then, how everything that Castiel does it was for him, one way or another, directly or indirectly - the pretty pure white angel has fallen, for him, in every sense of the word.

"I do everything you ask, I always come when you call."

"Still, despite your lack of faith in me, and now your threats, I just saved you yet again. Has anyone but your closest kin ever done more for you?"

"All I ask is this one thing, I've earned that, Dean."

Those words resonate in his mind, he didn't know what they meant then, but now, now he knows. But what good does it do? It doesn't change anything. It doesn't change the fact that his Cas was gone, so he works on the car, works on something he can fix, and drinks way too much beer, drowning himself in it. He remembers too vividly, what happened those few days ago, that glimmer he saw in Castiel's eyes, that glimmer that was always there, was gone when Castiel became 'God'.

"Call him what you want, just kill him now!" As he said that, the pain was almost unbearable. The person he wanted Death to kill was not Castiel, never Castiel - it was 'God'. Just when he thought the worst feeling in the world has passed him, it got ten times worse when Castiel actually turns to look at him, and he catches that faint glimmer in those mesmerizing blue eyes - in that one moment, he realizes that his Cas was still somewhere in there. It was in that moment, that he was determined to set Castiel free.

When he had finally found a way, a chance to get Castiel back, he was so desperate for it to work out. He was so desperate for a chance to look into the angel's eyes again, to see that smile that was shown only to him. He stares at the blood on the wall, Bobby beside him, chanting something he barely hears because all his attention was switched to Castiel when he stumbles and falls. Dean rushed forward, catching him. I will be right there to hold you when you fall.

He wanted to tell Castiel that he shouldn't be sorry, that he understands, but the words catches in his mouth when he sees the body slumped on the floor. "Maybe angels don't need to breathe," he was in so much denial, but he couldn't wrap his head around the fact that Castiel was gone. But he does wake up, those blue eyes opens and looks right at him, and he forced himself not to cry.

"I'll find a way to redeem myself to you, I mean it, Dean."

He says okay to that, because really, what else can he say? That Castiel doesn't need to do all that? That Castiel has already done enough for him? That he doesn't deserve it? It all gets stuck in his throat, everything that he wants to say - he was never a person of words, and God help him, how he wish he was.

How he wish he could have said all that, before the Leviathans took over, before he sees the body of what was once his angel disappear into the depths of the lake. How he wished he would have said something, anything - 'you're forgiven', 'I'm sorry', 'I know, its okay', 'I love you'. But his chance was over, and he failed once again, he failed as a friend, as family, and as so much more.

Castiel's coat was all that was left, and Dean kept it safe in the trunk of his car. Every now and then, he would take it out, just to look at it, then angrily shove it back into the trunk when he remembers that it's all his fault. "Cas..." when he hears his own voice saying the angel's name, he breaks. Burries his face into the trench coat, sliding down onto the floor beside the Impala. "Cas, I'm sorry, I forgive you, please, come back."

He does this every night, some times he cries into the trench coat, some times he cries in the toilet of the motel Sam and him were renting, some times he cries when he sits on the hood of his car and stares at the night sky. In those nights when he stares at the sky, looks at the stars, he remembers the conversation he had with Anna, all that seemed so long ago.

"So grace ground zero, it's not destruction, it's..."

"Pure creation."

That would explain why the stars reminds him so much of Castiel. "See that star, right there?" he points at the brightest one in the sky, as he sits on the hood of the car with Sam, a beer in his hands, he's been drinking so much lately.

"Yeah, what about it?"

"It's so bright. It reminds me... of someone." And Sam doesn't question, doesn't say anything, because he knows.

His breath hitches as the scene unfolds before him. He was sitting on a chair, which was on a dock, a river spread out before him, the horizon far away. He remembers this scene, almost too clearly in his mind, knows it all too well. "I missed you too, Dean," at the sound of his voice, Dean couldn't help himself as a tear rolled down his cheek. He turned around, looking at his angel, still wearing that stupid trench coat. "You should dress differently in my dreams, you know that, Cas?"

"Anything you wish," Castiel nodded once, and in a flash, he was wearing Dean's favorite AC/DC shirt and a pair of torn up jeans.

He steps forward, closing the space in between them, "I love it when you wear my clothes," he murmurs, then closes the space between their lips. It was sweet, too sweet, how Castiel melts into his arms and returns the kiss. And he remembers everything he's done up till now, how he didn't confess to Castiel about how he really felt. He pulls back, feels Castiel's hands on his cheek rubbing away his tears - he didn't even realize he was crying. "I'm sorry, Cas, I-"

Castiel silences him with another kiss, this time hungrier, dirtier. And he moans. "Forget about the plains of reality, Dean. You deserve to have that, in your dreams, at least."

Dean wouldn't, couldn't, deny himself of that. He holds Castiel close, tightly, afraid that he'll lose the angel again. He pushes Castiel down, holding him, falling with him. They land on a bed, soft, comfortable, never breaking the kiss. His hand trails over the angel's body, pulling up the shirt, throwing it carelessly over his shoulders. He gets up, pulls off his own shirt as well, as he takes in the sight of Castiel below him, that familiar smile lingering on his face. "You're perfect, Cas," he leans in, sucks on the flesh of Castiel's neck.

"I'm not perfect," Castiel reminds him, then he hears the flutter of wings and when he looks up, he sees those dark wings. "Not perfect..." Castiel whispers so close to his ears, he shivers. "And that's okay, Dean."

Dean groans, rubs his hips against the other for any kind of contact. "Dean," that voice, again, and he grinds his hips down, wanting to hear it over and over again. Castiel's smile, Castiel's voice, Castiel's wings, it was his, all his, "Mine." He couldn't let go, never let go, because Castiel was all he has.

"Yours, Dean, always."

He trails his fingers through the dark feathers, Castiel gasping at every touch. He feels the cracks and stiffness of the tainted feathers, but it doesn't matter, its all a part of his angel, and it doesn't matter. Ashes and gravel gets caught in the wings, and he soothes them out with his fingers. He vaugely remembers then, the image flashing through his mind of his journey back to Earth from the depths, and he takes in a deep breath.

"Dean," it breaks his train of thought, he licks his lips. He pulls off Castiel's jeans, smirking when he realizes the angel wasn't wearing any underwear, "Dirty, dirty angel."

"Only for you, Dean," and he'd be damned if he ever denies that the words went straight to his dick.

He rids himself of his own pants, hurridly pressing himself onto Castiel, he didn't like the loss of heat. They kiss, and time didn't matter, didn't exist in the planes of his dreams. The only thing that mattered was Castiel's red rosy lips and soft warm tongue - he noted, briefly, that Castiel tasted just right, there wasn't a distinct flavor he could pick out, he only knew that it was exactly what he wanted, exactly what he liked.

A loud moan breaks the kiss as Dean trails his fingers over the angel's wings once more, "Dean, please."

Dean smiled, "What do you want, Cas?" His hands never leaving those beautiful dark feathers, his mouth never leaving the skin of Castiel's neck. "You," was the answer, simple, one worded answer. Dean always wondered how the angel could convey so much in so little words, but now he knew, only he understood the feelings Castiel hides behind mortal words.

When he pushes into Castiel, already slick and wet, he remembers that this was a dream, and he stops halfway. "Dean?" His name, once again, but he knows the meaning behind this too. Questioning, at the same time soothing, telling him that its alright, that he's okay, that they are okay.

"I miss you, Cas," he utters as he pushes in to all the way, throwing his head back in pleasure of the tight heat. "Come back."

Arms wrapped around him, Castiel's legs bent over his shoulders, pulling him close. He feels something else carressing his face, and he looks to see black feathers. His right hand lets go of the body in front of him to massage the wings beside him. He hears Castiel moan his name and the grip around his cock tightens. "Can't, sorry-," he hears Castiel say, but he cuts it off, thrusting his hips relentlessly. He didn't need to hear that, Castiel shouldn't apologize, he was the one that should be apologizing.

He fucks Castiel hard and fast after that, wanting to forget. Castiel was pushing back, meeting every single one of his thrusts, moaning his name over and over like some kind of mantra. His wings flutter and tense when Dean hits a particularly good spot, and Dean can't help but bury his fingers into the feathers. They were so beautiful, color didn't matter, "They're stunning."

Castiel heard him through his loud moans, the look in those blue eyes tell him the angel heard, but was too busy gasping his name to answer. And he was alright with that.

Here, in his mind, he would give everything to have this for real, he would give everything for this to never end. But alas, its merely a dream. He realizes, though, when Castiel comes untouched, unknown enochian words leaving his lips, that the imperfection between them was what made it so perfect. They were never a perfect square, sides jagged like a puzzle piece, that fits only to each other. It was his human faults that drawn Castiel towards him, and it was Castiel's grace that carried him on. Castiel fell for him, and Dean soared.

"Dean, Dean! Are you alright?" It was Sammy's voice, beside him, shaking him awake. He opens his eyes and Sam heaves a sigh of relief, "You were shouting and flipping around I thought-"

Sam cuts himself off when he sees the tears in Dean's eyes. "Dean?"

"I dreamed of Cas. He was right there, Sammy. He was right there beside me."

"Shit, Dean, I'm sorry, I didn't-"

"You don't need to apologize, Sam. I told him," Dean cracks a smile that contrasted the tears streaming down his face.

"You told him what?"

"I told him I loved him, for being imperfect. And you know what, Sammy?" A pause, and Dean looks at Sam, eyes glinting with something bright that Sam has never seen before in his life. "He said the same thing back."

And Sam didn't need to reply, didn't know what to, really. He just smiled, patted his brother on the back and handed him a beer. They got out of the hotel room that night, sat on the hood of Dean's car and stared at the stars. The night was long, and they had all the time in the world. And it was ironic, how all Dean and Castiel needed was time, and that was the only thing they didn't have, but Dean has so much of it now, all the time on his hands, and no one to share with but himself. But then again, maybe he wasn't alone, he thought, as he looked at the pitch black sky that reminded him of the angel's wings, he pointed a finger at the brightest star in the sky, "See that star right there?"

"Yeah, I see him."